Turning waterboards into wine

Why is it gas station marts and truck stops in rural areas sell the absolute weirdest crap, and then try to pass it off as artwork? Are they trying to dupe weary travelers and lonely truckers into impulse buying some shit-stained slice of local flavor—or as I like to call it, culture for those without a frontal lobe?

Or do they truly believe there’s a viable market for these:

(I call this one Waterboarded Animals in Fetal Position)

Admittedly, the craftsmanship of these ceramic embodiments of animal cruelty isn’t terrible. However, just because something is passably made doesn’t mean it should be made (case in point, sex dolls for dogs). Not to mention, the disturbingly unnatural and overtly fellatic poses of these animals are impossible to ignore, only seeming to reinforce the whole hayseed-bestiality stereotype.

Or maybe I’m looking at it all wrong. Maybe I’m not the intended demographic here. Maybe there’s a rampant tchotchke fetish among small town denizens, and this inspired dreck has been curated for a local market. We’re simply passing through their weird little worlds…

Gaze at it through that lens, and I guess it is feasible that truck stops have become cultural epicenters for rural America. Like the redneck version of Etsy, only more analog.

If that’s the case then chalk it up to my own narcissistic small-mindedness for being out of touch with the aesthetically challenged. For the life of me, I just can’t imagine a world where anyone would buy this shit for unironic reasons.

And yet, journalistic ethics compels me to at least try and see both sides, to present a balanced viewpoint à la Fox News. So let’s play devil’s advocate and picture how an earnest purchase of this eye socket spice rack might go down:

CUSTOMER: Is this a real human skull?

CASHIER: Dunno. Might could be.

CUSTOMER: (admiring skull) Feels real… ‘cept it’s got all its teeth! (emits snorting horselaugh at his own joke) That sure ain’t real… (snorts again for good measure)

CASHIER: (amused) Must’ve flossed or somethin’.

CUSTOMER: So, which eye hole you think the salt goes in?

Cashier mulls it over, probing her own eye sockets with her fingers for an answer. She then confidently points at the salt shaker in the right eye socket.

CASHIER: (points at right eye of the skull) Hmm, reckon salt goes in that hole.

07.21.2010 "Big," Macy Gray. For anyone seeking another Macy Gray album on par with "On How Life Is," look no further. Though not as instantly catchy, with repeated listenings it's simply euphoric. "Big" showcases Macy's highly under-appreciated wordsmithery, her peerless phrasing and that otherworldly helium voice—the most engaging and expressive female voice I've heard since Nina Simone.

02.18.2011 “Return to the Sea,” Islands. Following the brilliant, short, happy life of Montreal indie rock band The Unicorns and their gem, “Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone?” frontman Nick Diamonds and drummer J’aime Tambeur emerged from the ashes to form Islands—and one of the more compellingly quirky, epic, sprawling and distinctive albums known to man.

09.15.2011 "Fuzzy" and "Mighty Joe Moon," Grant Lee Buffalo. Part Wilco, part Eddie Vedder, part Elliott Smith. And yet, completely original. Why more people haven’t heard Grant Lee Buffalo is a crime against good taste. Two of the best albums of the ‘90s right here, masterfully written, voiced and shredded by Grant-Lee Phillips.

12.7.2011 "Mr. Wizard," R.L. Burnside. If this old school, north Mississippi juke joint bluesman doesn't (at the very least) get your head a-bobbin' or toe a-tappin', then you're fucked—because you have no soul. That's a fact. Burnside, a toothless, badass septuagenarian who's now passed away, shreds Mississippi Delta blues—right when it turned electric. Saw him in concert back in 2001, and it was easily one of the top 3 shows I've ever had the privilege to attend.